Page 124 of Nothing More

Without having seen a photo, without asking, Toly knew these were the three bratva high-ups who’d spotted Nikolai talking with Kat and Tenny.

“We went by the house,” the largest one said to Misha, in Russian, too loud, uncaring. “They said you were here.” He scowled, a blatant show of disrespect to his Pakhan. Then his gaze shifted to Toly, and narrowed further, eyes flat and dark as a shark’s. “With the traitor.”

Slowly, Toly set his beer down, and stopped trying to pretend he wasn’t watching them from the corner of his eye.

Misha said, “I told Boris I didn’t want us to be disturbed.” A thread of warning in his voice that the young ones, foolishly, didn’t react to.

The tall one sneered. “Boris isn’t in charge of me.”

In English, Misha said, “Toly, meet Ilya, Serge, and Pavel.”

The fine hair on Toly’s arms bristled inside his sleeves, fictional hackles lifting. They recognized him, obviously, but Misha sharing his name out loud like this, introducing them as if this was a social meeting, violated their agreement.

Toly glanced across the table, gaze questioning.You said you’d hold them off. Keep them back.

Something hot and wet landed on the side of Toly’s face, and based on the accompanying sound, he knew it meant he’d been spit on.

He pulled a damp cocktail napkin off the table to wipe his face, and glanced over to see the shortest one, Pavel, dabbing his lips with the back of his hand, grinning. His canine teeth were capped in gold, flashing in the dimness of the bar.

The big one, Ilya, rested a hand on the table and leaned down low to shove his face into Toly’s. “You should be dead by now. Every moment since you betrayed us has been stolen.”

In a low, calm voice, Misha said, “Toly did not steal from us. He left. He shouldn’t have, but that’s his whole crime.”

Ilya swung around to gape at his Pakhan.

Just as calmly, Misha said, “Remove yourselves from my private meeting before I remove the nails from your fingers.” When they didn’t respond immediately, he snapped his fingers. “Go.”

They went, then, muttering and glaring at Toly as they did. Ilya swooped back in at the last minute to whisper, “Never let me catch you alone on the street. Little LeanBitch.”

~*~

In the car again, Toly said, “Andrei would never allow that kind of insubordination.” It sounded like a dig, and he meant it as one – mostly because his pulse was still thrumming. This wasn’t going the way it was supposed to.

“Not usually, no,” Misha agreed. “But this isn’t a usual circumstance: those boys are his nephews.”

“I thought he was an only child?”

“So did he, until three years ago. She turned up broke and crying for help, her three boys uncontrollable – but a kind of violent he thought he could use.”

Taking in a sister he hadn’t known about didn’t sound like Andrei – but making use of fresh attack dogs did. “He sent them here for you to train up.”

“Hm. Just like all the difficult boys.”

“I wasn’t difficult,” Toly protested, under his breath, but Misha heard.

He chuckled. “No, you weren’t. But it’s not so much about effort as it is fear.”

“Huh?”

“Those three are the type to knife you in your sleep and steal your wallet. Andrei knows this, and he wants them far away from him. He was likewise afraid of you.”

“I was never like them.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself, but his stomach lurched to be compared to those three insolent assholes.

“No,” Misha agreed. “But you were – what is the word in English – you were spooky.”

“Spooky?”

Misha took his eyes off the road to regard him a moment, expression one of familiar, patient exasperation – an expression that squeezed Toly’s heart with a fierce, momentary nostalgia. He didn’t miss the bratva: the uncertainty, and the fear of failure; in the case of Oleg’s American branch, the raging incompetency. But he missed Misha. He missed feeling as though he was in the only place where he belonged.